Got a Thing For You
by dragontattoo75
Summary: As strong as he was, Derek was not man enough to keep himself from falling.


**Thank you BregoMellonNin and 35nanou for friendship and endless support. Thank you Karen Ec for pre-reading and Sue273 for betaing for me yet again!**

**I was initially going to link a video from YouTube of Levi Karter dancing at a strip club, since it was my inspiration for Stiles' video, but unfortunately it's been taken down. I hope you got to watch it when it was up!**

**In Stiles' video he dances to Wild Ones by Flo Rida. Playing at Stiles' party is Waiting Room by Fugazi. FFn is hopeless with links, so either go to my AO3 account, or search on YouTube if you want to listen to the songs.**

* * *

**Got a Thing For You**

The day started out like every other day where Derek woke up at 5:30 and set his eggs to boil while he dressed and ate a banana. He swallowed down his breakfast and vitamins with orange juice before reaching for the keys that hung ready by the door for his hasty departures.

It was dark outside, still, when he unlocked the front door to his downstairs training center, flicked the lights on, and blinking against the fluorescent lighting, confirmed the floors were swept and trash carried out. He flipped on his computer, filled the boiler with water, and drank his cup of green tea while reading his emails. Five minutes before his morning class started, Derek was ready in Studio 1, prepared to work his clients hard, giving them what they asked for and needed.

His employees behaved like they always did: Lydia snapping at Peter for nothing and everything, and Allison and Isaac making out in the backroom until they were caught. Derek slapped the back of Isaac's head, but gave him a wet wipe for the lipstick smear at the corner of his mouth.

Nothing was out of the ordinary at all until Derek's lunch break when he was about to run up to his apartment to eat his fish, unpolished rice, and vegetables.

He stood by the mailboxes.

A hastily opened envelope in one hand, eyes trained on the paper sheet in his other; Derek had to pass Stiles to get to the stairs. If Derek had taken to the steps immediately, and not lingered with wonders about the content of the letter, Stiles would have called out a greeting to Derek's departing back.

Stiles turned and noticed him before Derek could pass quickly.

Shit.

Stiles' grin was wide, full of white teeth and promises when he turned. "Derek," he purred, throwing his arm around Derek's shoulders while he was haphazardly forcing his letter into his jeans pocket and adjusting his messenger bag on his shoulder. Stiles led them both up the stairs, walking them to their floor. Derek sighed too early in relief at the sight of his door, thinking he was a second away from escape, when Stiles let go of his shoulder and set his dangerous eyes on Derek.

His gaze glided intentionally over Derek's sweaty wife-beater clinging to his form, and down Derek's arms bursting with muscles, taking in everything. Giving him a slow once-over.

Derek felt naked.

Stiles stepped closer, wetting his lips. Derek was ready to pass out until Stiles asked, "Do you teach pole dancing at your training center?"

* * *

Derek was still fuming while attending the front desk during Lydia's lunch break when Stiles showed up at the front door. He walked up to Derek with a spring in his step, head turning in every direction with eyes shining with curiosity. To Derek's knowledge, this was the first time Stiles had come into his center.

"This place looks great!" Stiles said enthusiastically, his eyes on Derek.

Derek finished chewing, tossed his apple core in the trashcan, and set his eyes on the interesting goldfish screensaver of his.

"So . . ." Stiles drawled, resting his elbows on the desk, picking up papers, playing with the stapler, and drawing a stick figure, before Derek snapped and ripped the pen out of his fingers.

"Why are you here?"

Derek straightened up the desk while waiting for his answer. Finally, he looked up, meeting Stiles' blinding smile yet again. Clearly, Derek was not working hard enough at pushing his neighbor away.

"Well, I was thinking," Stiles said, plucking at a loose piece of plastic on the desk's edge with his fingernail. "You don't teach pole dancing here . . ."

Derek crossed his arms over his chest. Damn straight he didn't.

"But there must be some classes focusing on strengthening back and stomach muscles? I've been told I'd get no swing on the pole without it."

Derek scowled, his mind racing on how to get out of it because, of course, he had classes like that. Control of your torso was essential in any martial arts.

Stiles seemed to be forcing his eyes up from Derek's chest to his face, and he swallowed visibly before asking, his voice a little husky, "Is it because you don't think I'm able to follow your classes? Because then you're wrong." Stiles started pulling up his t-shirt, flexing the distracting six-pack he revealed. "I was a trained gymnast back home."

Derek fell down on the desk chair.

It was not until Stiles let go of his clothing and gave Derek a concerned frown that Derek was able to close his mouth, and say shakily, "Ah. Why's it you want to start pole dancing anyway?"

Stiles' ears reddened, but his gaze didn't yield, answering, "It's good money and I've got bills to pay."

Derek nodded. That he could understand.

"Look," Stiles said. "I'm dancing in a club, all right? I've put a video on YouTube you can check out if you doubt I'm good enough for your center."

Derek sighed, defeated. Making Stiles feel he was not good enough was the last thing he wanted. He tapped a few commands in the computer, but it was just for show; Derek knew everything in his center by heart.

"You have several options, depending on your schedule and preference."

"I'd like to take one you teach," Stiles quickly said.

Derek held his gaze for a second before he snatched a timetable sheet, and marking the classes he'd recommend. Stiles eagerly leaned over the paper before grabbing it and rolling it up in his fist.

"This looks great, man. Thanks!"

Derek gave him a curt, resigned nod.

"I'll let you know which I'll go for later, all right?"

Derek grunted in agreement. "That's fine." _Please, take your time._

Stiles looked at him speculatively. "I don't suppose there's something called a resident discount, is there?"

Derek threw his pen at him.

Stiles ducked, laughing, before turning for the door. "Search for my name on YouTube and you'll find my video."

Derek ignored the last sentence.

* * *

Stiles had been renting the second apartment for four months, but Derek felt like he'd known him for much longer. If Stiles was surprised to learn that a twenty-eight-year-old owned a building with two small apartments above a martial arts center, he'd never said anything about it. Not that Derek made a habit of putting himself in the position for Stiles to talk to him.

Stiles was a psychology major and barely at home, so it usually wasn't difficult to avoid him, but when he actually _was_ home, Derek always knew. He'd knock on Stiles' door to ask him to play something other than Bad Religion or Fugazi, but Stiles would grin and tell him they were the classics, so just suck it up.

Derek didn't give a damn about classic or not. For him, music was rated according to how suitable it was to exercise to.

Derek's life was very different now than when he was a teenager, and losing his parents in a fire had turned his life to shit. The day he got expelled from school, which he didn't attend anyway, after his drug stash was found in his locker, he stumbled into Deaton's center. Looking for a so-called friend to ask for a place to stay for a few nights, Derek's knuckles were as bloody and bruised as they always were these days.

Deaton took Derek's chin in hand, studied him critically from side to side, and within thirty seconds, told Derek all the things he did wrong in his fighting technique.

From that day on, Derek started dealing with his life.

After testing and trying Deaton in every thinkable way and losing categorically, Derek stopped taking drugs, drinking, and smoking. He started eating all the right things for building up his body instead of tearing it down, and started his training both on his body and his brain; he finished school and learned all the ins and outs of Deaton's center.

Deaton died of a blood clot on the brain, probably from being punched in the head one too many times while training, and Derek inherited the whole building and business. He worked his ass off every day to continue the work Deaton had started; creating a center that functioned not only as a place to come to get in shape, but as a meeting point for healthy living and a hand held out for young people in need of self-defense.

To this day, it was still a success.

* * *

Derek walked past the long queue at Lucky's on Friday night with nobody bothering him about it. He greeted the bouncer and two coupons for free drinks were discreetly tucked in his hand before he went searching for his guys in the crowd.

It was a bit tiring that part, having to brush off a flock of chicks flaunting their tits in his face, their normal inhibitions lowered by booze. By the time he reached Isaac and Peter, they were laughing at him. He gave them the coupons he was not going to use himself and ordered a fruit juice from the bartender, getting served right away.

Derek was much more comfortable when they were seated on a sofa away from the chatty bar and annoying dance floor. Allison and Lydia joined them at some point. Derek was not sure when, because there was someone new there tonight; someone dressed up in a soccer player's outfit, moving obscenely on the small stage, lights in his eyes as he smiled and ground his hips.

Stiles.

Derek felt a rush through his whole body and glanced down at the fruit drink in his hand, suddenly wondering if someone had spiked it.

His neighbor did a backflip and Derek . . . Derek found himself reaching for him and pushing a five dollar bill in his tiny, blue shorts. Stiles continued his dancing as Derek shook his dazed head, like he was in some sort of trance that made him do it.

Touching Stiles reminded Derek of being high. Even if it were ten years since the last time he'd taken anything except for vitamins, he'd never forget the feeling for as long as he lived. Touching Stiles was dangerous territory.

* * *

Relief flooded Derek when Stiles showed up at his first class in baggy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, towel and water bottle in hand. His neighbor was grinning at Derek in his usual distracting manner and didn't say a word about Friday night.

Training went as it normally did; Derek was not letting anyone stand in the way of doing his very best at his job. As usual, several clients were waiting to speak to him by the door—answering questions or giving advice on anything from training to healthy living was a part of his job—and it took some time before Derek reached Stiles.

Stiles' face and neck were red from exertion, and his t-shirt drenched. His grin was still plastered to his face as if studying Derek in his work mode was amusing. Derek could feel Stiles' eyes on him at all times. He hoped he didn't give away dangerous advice to anyone.

"So, how did I do?" Stiles asked, drying his neck with his towel.

Stiles was a paying customer and Derek was nothing but professional in his critique. Before Stiles finally left, he said, "By the way, I'm having a small party on Thursday. You should come."

Derek stared at him. "I don't think so," he said dismissively and walked past Stiles, out to the front desk.

Unfortunately, Stiles followed him. "Why not? You can bring friends." His eyes looked hopeful.

"I don't party." Derek turned him down.

"But you were at the club!"

"That's because that's where my friends are on Fridays."

Stiles still looked determined. "I haven't seen anyone come or go from your apartment since I moved in."

"So?"

"You can't have a girlfriend."

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Or boyfriend," Stiles added. A second later, he wondered, "Then how do you get laid?"

"That's none of your goddamn business!" Derek hissed, turning his back to him.

* * *

Derek should have been working Thursday night. He had email to answer, a website to update, schedules to plan; a training center to run.

Instead, he sat on his bed, earplugs shutting every noise out as he surfed.

He hated what was going on in the other apartment. From what Stiles told him after the training, Derek got the impression that Stiles found his conquests at parties.

Derek used to rely on friends with benefits until four months ago when he stopped visiting them.

His fingers found YouTube and searched for _Stiles Stilinski._

Knowing his neighbor's taste in music, Derek was surprised when _Wild One _by Flo Rida started playing in his ears and a familiar soccer costume strutted around the scene. Stiles didn't take off much of his clothing, but the way he moved and the suggestion of what was underneath was a helluva more sexy to Derek. He rubbed himself raw.

He fell back on his mattress an hour later, thankful he had only one room and didn't have to get up to go to bed. But as Derek's back hit the mattress, his earplugs fell out and the noise from the party next door hit him hard.

Damn _Waiting Room._ Again.

He was not going to get any sleep with this riot.

Derek rolled out of bed, pulled his sweats up and found his old socks on the floor, before opening his door to the hall.

Stiles' door was wide open and people were everywhere in his tiny place.

When Derek walked in, the crowd made room for him instantly, like every crowd always did for him. Derek saw Stiles sitting on his windowsill, beer in hand and his mouth doing its typical dance, directed at a guy sitting too close.

Stiles' friend noticed Derek. The music was still playing, but the crowd had taken the talking down a notch after Derek's appearance.

Stiles followed his friend's gaze over to Derek, his surprise instantly turning to glee.

"Hi!" Stiles grinned, hopping down from the sill and turning to his friend. "Scott! This is Derek!" Stiles introduced Derek like he was some kind of famous person, but he didn't seem to get the intended effect from his friend, because Scott was sizing Derek up critically, face scowling.

"Derek! This is my best friend, Scott."

Ah, the protective best friend. _Not a boyfriend._

Derek could appreciate that and held his hand out in greeting, which Scott grabbed—hard. A strong handshake was nothing to Derek, but he already liked Scott and pretended to wince, flexing his fingers afterwards for show.

Scott gave him a jerky nod, then Stiles seized Derek's attention again and Derek noticed what he was wearing: skin-tight black jeans and a too-tight t-shirt, showing his nipples. Derek knew all too well what Stiles looked like under those clothes by now. He swallowed thickly, remembering what he had done merely minutes ago on the other side of the wall, salivating over his screen.

He glanced up at Stiles' face and instantly could tell he was caught.

Shit!

What was he doing in here anyway!

Before he could back away, Scott grabbed him by the arm, hissing in his ear, "I know a thing or two about you, Derek, and if you hurt Stiles, I promise you, I'll do anything to hunt you down."

Derek gave Stiles' best friend a nod in recognition, because he had respect for what Scott was saying even if he had no intention of getting involved with his neighbor.

He strode out of Stiles' apartment, but instead of going inside his own door, he ran down the stairs and into his center, finding his regular punching bag for his frustrations.

Finally, when his mind was clear and he was soaked through, Derek drank his water bottle up and headed back upstairs. The party was still going strong, but Derek wasn't affected by it anymore. He'd got his priorities in order again.

* * *

It was still dark outside when Derek woke up, Stiles swaying beside his bed, and he jumped up. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Stiles hiccupped and giggled, fighting with his tight pants and losing; falling to his ass.

"Derek, you've _got _to help me with these," he slurred, lifting his feet up in the air, dirty socks pointing to Derek.

"You're not sleeping here tonight!" Derek said firmly, but helped the guy out of his miserable clothing. Wherever Stiles ended up sleeping, Derek was not going to let him get strangled in his sleep by his own clothes.

Stiles continued his giggling until he was finally stripped down to a t-shirt and briefs. Tiny, tiny briefs.

"Scott approves of you, you know." Stiles still sat on the floor, obviously too dizzy to get up on his own. "But I know you don't do relationships."

Derek frowned. "How do you know that?"

Stiles looked up at him with big, swimming eyes. "Lydia. She's an old friend of mine from back home. She was the one who told me about your available apartment, remember?"

Derek sat down on his mattress. "You should listen to her," he told Stiles, looking out of his window at the streetlamp. "I'm not boyfriend material."

Stiles still looked up at him, unusually quiet for about a minute.

"I'm thinking about doing porn," was what came out of his mouth next and Derek was glad he was already sitting down.

"No!" he found himself shouting. "Please don't."

"Why?"

How could Stiles think to ask Derek such an important question while he was drunk?

Derek sighed before rising and pulled Stiles to his feet. When it turned out Stiles had Bambi legs and fell into Derek, Derek couldn't find the strength in himself to do anything else than let them both fall back on his bed; no training in the world would have been enough prevention.

Stiles giggled again as his face got pressed into Derek's armpit. "Shit! You stink!"

"Yeah, I know," Derek sighed, trying to wiggle the clingy body away from his and get into a comfortable sleeping position with a drunk Stiles in his bed.

Before he knew it, Stiles was snoring loudly on his chest.

* * *

Derek woke up before Stiles did, sun in his face and cell phone ringing. He gruffly answered it, "Yeah."

"Are you sick?" Lydia's bored voice asked at the other end.

Derek looked down at the warm body in his bed.

"Yeah," he repeated and hung up.

He placed the phone back on the floor and as he raised his arm back up again, he was not sure where to let it fall. It felt significant somehow.

He buried his fingers in Stiles' hair, combing them through the dark strands, not minding the old wax.

Stiles opened his eyes and set his gaze on Derek's.

"Good morning," Derek whispered. "How's your head?"

Stiles stretched beside him, his chest pressing against Derek's arm, before he wriggled as close as possible to Derek, smiling. "Not too bad."

"Good," Derek said, surprising himself by smiling back, and was met by Stiles' biggest grin.

He couldn't stop himself from saying, "I don't want you to do porn." The smile wiped off Stiles' face.

"They want me to come in and do a solo, to see how the camera likes me," Stiles mumbled, fiddling with the hair on Derek's chest before looking up to his face. "I received the plane ticket to New York from them in the mail the other day."

"Don't go," Derek found himself saying.

Stiles sighed. "I need the money."

"Practice your pole dancing and I'll let you start a class at my center," Derek offered. He had no idea where all these words were coming from—they were certainly not from his brain.

Stiles looked at him, surprised. "You'll let me do that?"

Derek bobbed his head once; evidently he was.

"I could teach dance classes right away if you're interested," Stiles said, hope shining in his eyes.

"Okay," Derek said. He was clearly out of his mind.

Stiles hauled himself on top of Derek before starting to roll out of bed. Derek held him back.

"I'm just going to brush my teeth," Stiles grinned and ran to the bathroom. The toilet flushed and water ran through the pipes before the door reopened. Stiles walked out, slowly stepping closer to Derek's bed while pulling his t-shirt off and hopped out of his socks, ending up beside the mattress in just his briefs.

Derek sat up, opened his legs, and pulled Stiles to him, his hands kneading his ass cheeks.

Stiles grinned down at him.

"I want you," Derek said low.

"I know," Stiles told him lightly, like it was an obvious thing. "Have me."

Derek groaned, burrowing his face against Stiles' stomach. The boy clearly had no idea what he was giving up.

"Hey," Stiles whispered, pulling Derek's head back and forcing their eyes to lock. "I know you don't do relationships."

"What is it you want, then?" Derek asked, suddenly feeling angry.

Stiles didn't back down. "Anything you're willing to give me."

Stunned, Derek stared at him.

"All right," he agreed before swallowing. "As long as your dancing is nothing but just that and you don't strip out of your underwear."

Stiles grinned down at him, his fingers combing into Derek's hair. "That's already in my contract."

Derek nodded, and then let his eyes glide down Stiles' neck, over his smooth chest, and slowly hooked his fingertips under the top of the briefs, the last fabric covering Stiles' body. "As long as I'm the only one seeing this," he said as Stiles stood in front of him in all of his nakedness.

"Do you hear what you're really saying?" Stiles asked him, kicking the briefs away from his feet.

Derek took a moment to think, while his hands explored Stiles' naked skin. "Yes, I'm saying what my heart is telling me."

He heard the foolish cheesiness in his words himself. Even if they felt true, admitting them made him groan. But Stiles raised his chin, looking serious.

"You sure you're not boyfriend material?"

Derek swallowed back the nervousness in his chest, pulling Stiles down on him. "No, I'm not sure when it's you asking me."

**The End**

* * *

**Sex scene for 35nanou:**

Stiles lowered his head over Derek's face and licked his lips once before grinning down at him. Derek groaned at the sensation; having wanted to kiss Stiles for months, he attacked the boy's mouth, tilting his head. It felt like Stiles' tongue against his own flicked a switch inside him; he was done holding back, denying himself like he'd done for what felt like forever.

He flipped them both over, pressing his legs between Stiles', but there was something in the way, a fabric of some sort, irritating and hindering him to do what he wanted.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles moaned. "Where the hell did all this come from?"

"I want to fuck you," Derek growled against Stiles' neck where he buried his face, sucking at the skin. He had no time for gentleness or exploration; all he felt was want and urgency. He really hoped Stiles meant it when he'd told him he wanted anything Derek would give, because this was all he had to offer.

"Derek. Derek!"

It took him a few seconds to understand Stiles wanted his attention, and wasn't just moaning his name.

Grudgingly, he stopped trying to force his underwear out of the way while searching for lube under the mattress at the same time.

"Mm!"

Stiles grabbed his face, forcing their eyes to lock. "Derek. Slow down. We've got all day."

Derek grunted, not agreeing. He wanted release. Inside Stiles.

Stiles tried to push him off. "I'll suck you off, so you can wait for a minute."

"No, I want to fuck you."

Stiles smiled, so trustingly, Derek thought. "I want you to fuck me, too. Just let me get prepared, all right?"

Derek frowned, confused. Of course, he wasn't going to force himself inside!

"I'm sorry. I'd never mean to hurt you," he said. He hoped it wouldn't be too much hurting involuntarily.

Stiles smiled softly at him. "I know." He handed him the lube back. "Now, prepare me."

Derek drenched the lube over his fingers, searching behind Stiles' balls. He easily knew when he found what he was looking for.

"Fuuuck," Stiles gasped, throwing his head back while Derek fucked his fingers in.

Derek took great pleasure in watching Stiles' face, his plump lips, wide open and red. Sexy. It looked like Stiles was almost as worked up as Derek felt.

He rolled the condom on himself, groaning at the feeling of merely the light pressure.

Then he was inside Stiles and the boy gasped against Derek's face, pupils dilated and black.

"Derek!"

Derek fucked himself into Stiles, feeling the tightness and warmth around him. It'd been so long—he'd wanted Stiles for so long.

"Is it good?" he gasped against Stiles' open mouth.

"Yeah," Stiles moaned back. "So good. Fuck, Derek. I want you."

Derek sped up, Stiles enjoying it just as much himself, spurring him on. He was not going to last.

"Shit, Stiles! I'm gonna come soon."

Stiles pressed his heels against Derek's ass cheeks, forcing his cock deep inside. Derek meant to reach for Stiles' cock, feeling it between them, hard and leaking, but before he could control himself, he came and came and came. It lasted for forever and he couldn't keep himself up, holding his weight from Stiles.

As strong as he was, Derek was not man enough to keep himself from falling.

Dizzy with fog in his head, he breathed hard against Stiles' neck, his cardio training helping him come back to reality before he strangled the boy. He rolled off, searching Stiles' face.

Stiles was glassy-eyed and hair wild, lifting himself up on his elbow. Stiles grabbed Derek's hand, placing it on his hard-on, but Derek drew it back.

"No, sit here." He patted his chest, lying back. Stiles looked quizzically at him.

"Fuck my mouth," Derek explained, and Stiles rose eagerly. "You do the rest of the work."

Stiles fumbled with sitting up over Derek. "Shit, Derek! Are you for real?"

Derek opened his mouth and licked the tip of Stiles' cock with the flat of his tongue while watching Stiles' face; it was almost as red as it'd been after training, and Stiles looked horny as hell. Derek tapped the most sensitive part of Stiles' dick against his lips.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy playing with you," he told the boy, his voice full of promises.

Stiles gasped, pre-come hitting Derek's sense of taste. He loved it.

Smacking his lips, he licked them, and said, "Now, rise up a bit and fuck my mouth as I told you."

"Shit!" Stiles gasped, but did as he was told; bent his cock down to slide it inside Derek's mouth. Derek covered his teeth with his lips, feeling Stiles' cock deep in his throat, making his mouth water—just like he wanted it.

Stiles lifted up his ass, placed his weight on his hands on either side of Derek's head, and started fucking. In and out. Derek's mouth filled with spit and pre-come as he breathed through his nose, and grabbed Stiles' firm ass cheeks with his hands, squeezing the well-trained muscles before he slid two fingers down the boy's crack and inside, where it was wet and slippery from earlier.

He hummed around Stiles, looking up to watch his face. Stiles fixed Derek's eyes in a stare, lids heavy and sleepy. "Who_ are _you?" Stiles moaned, before gasping as Derek pressed his lips tight against Stiles' cock. The boy threw his head back, forcing himself as deep as he could and coming. His whole body jerked in spasms while come was filling Derek's mouth, trickling down his chin and down to his ear. He grabbed the boy before he fell on Derek's face, and he collapsed in a heap instead, beside Derek. In his bed.

Stiles' chest was heaving, still, when Derek lifted his head to rest in his hand, studying him. Noticing how good Stiles looked right there. Beside him.

Stiles opened his eyes, and then, looking straight at Derek, said, "I could get used to that." He grinned lazily.

Derek stroked a piece of Stiles' hair away from his forehead. It was almost a tender gesture, if Derek should put a name on it. "Me too," he admitted.

**Definitely The End**

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! As said above, you can find all my stuff on AO3 with links for my inspirations that FFn don't allow. Link on my profile.**


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